Juvie
by jhvh777
Summary: Tommy reflects on his past life, giving advice as he goes. An excerpt from the journal of Tommy Shepherd
1. Juvie

Summary: An excerpt from the journal of Tommy Shepherd.

When you're a detainee at my old juvenile hall you have no rights. If you have a useful superpower you aren't even a person. You are a weapon. A thing. You just don't know it yet.

Sure it's fun at the beginning while they're testing your powers. You go to go all out, no holds barred in that arena as they take down notes. Therapy, they called it. Allowing the subject to exercise their destructive streak in a controlled environment. I don't know what I did, maybe I blew through the test too fast, maybe I laughed a bit as a small shed evaporated under my touch, but whatever I did signed me up for Therapeutic Conditioning.

You don't want to go to that.

You get moved out of the general population and moved into a cell specifically designed to counteract each and every one of your powers. Not sure if they all have this, but mine had an electrified floor. So pretty much the only "safe" place was on the bed, but even then you're still stuck in this one place with no protection, and any attempt to flee gets you enough electricity to knock you out. Once you're subdued they'll dose you to dampen your powers. Each dose lasts about two hours by my count. So as soon as you're dosed you get to go do their tests. But don't even think about escaping then; there are always guards with tranqs and tazers who are just looking for any excuse to shoot you.

I got tazed when I didn't destroy the model playground with the kid mannequins on it.

The mental conditioning is the worst part, though. It always starts with a dose. They don't want you fighting back after all. When I started this I was completely shocked and disgusted by what they showed me. People dying, getting shot, emaciated, videos and pictures, and they tie you down so you can't look away. I know how a person acts when they've had their arm dipped in hydrochloric acid.

The first session is the worst, only because you don't know what's coming. I was sick, horribly sick when I first saw those images. The next two or three sessions also suck, but after that you start to get used to it. By the fifth four hour session I didn't even really notice when they showed someone getting their arm snapped at the joint and twisted around.

I'm pretty sure it's a defense thing, the numbing. If you don't become desensitized you'll go crazy. Maybe you go crazy anyway, but at least I can still function.

So you let yourself go numb and hide your rebellion. Because if you're anything like me, and if you've ended up in this place you are, then you're going to want to get out of there. I just beg you to be smarter then you were when you got captured. These people do not mess around. Do you know what they do if you're stupid in here? They pull everyone in the program into the auditorium, they tell us what you did, how they caught you, and then they kill you. I learned more during those than during their 'therapies'. After you lose two friends to those you learn to stop taking stop taking risks.

Risks are bad, but the rebellion is the only thing that will keep you any semblance of sanity.

My rebellion was slow, and I almost gave in. But I managed to find a weak point in the wall, right by the lock. I almost had it when I was broken out.

Still, the drugs, the shocks, the videos; these people know how to brainwash. They know how to warp you to the point where even when you go to see your parents after becoming a hero, after having saved people, proven you're better than everything they told you, they kick you out. You broke out of jail after all. Those people were only trying to help, Thomas. Instead of applying yourself to get better you were your normal rebellious self. Your father and I saw the news video of you hurting those aliens, blowing them up. How could you?

Parents. Can't live with them, can't kill 'em.

The hardest part of that juvie is nothing that they've done. You're strong. You can adapt to them. The hardest part is readjusting. You can't tell anyone what you went through, you'd be locked up again. No more drugs, no more tests, no more trying to fix me. I'll just stay in my emotionless shell where nothing and no one can hurt me. And people will learn to just leave me alone and not pry. It's none of their damn business what I had to do in order to survive. I'm alive. I still have a shred of morals, I don't attack kids, and if the team says stand down I don't finish them off even if I _know_ that they're just going to come back and attack later.

This prison is a death sentence. You're never going to be the same kid. I used to be happy. I used to be nice. It was an honest mistake when I vaporized my school. I had no control then, my powers had manifested right as I was freaking out over a test. I can never go back to that. They forced me to kill. They forced me to stand back and do nothing as I lost people close to me or die with them.

I just wanted to learn to control myself. Is that too much to ask? To figure out how to keep your powers under control _without_ getting beaten for not attacking the new kid in TC? For trying to help? I just wanted to be a hero, you know. I really did. As I was standing there, the ash from my school falling around me, realizing that I had destroyed _only_ the building, that everyone was still alive, I thought that I could really do it. Be a hero. Now? Ha, yeah right. Now I just want to be left alone. I've done enough. I wasn't fast enough to save Glen or Tenie, I just sat and watched them get killed for trying to escape. I don't deserve to be a hero. I don't deserve this costume. This team. I can't tell them what I did, or I'm going to chase them off. They'll send me back.

I've killed.

Avengers don't kill.

I can't be an Avenger.

It's as simple as that.

Even if the team can somehow look passed what I did, miracle of all miracles, they'll still treat me like glass. I'd be spending every free minute in therapy or something. No more adults. No more therapy. No more. I don't want that. I just want to be _me _again. I just want to know what _being_ me is. Who am I now? Other than broken.

If you do something that could get you sent there, run. It doesn't matter where, just go. Anywhere is better than there.

Anything is better than death.


	2. Bragging Rights

There are times when I talk and I don't know if people really listen. I brag and they just see it as that, no questions asked, no curiosity about how I know things. Take this brag for instance. "I know the best place in all of Italy to get pizza." Most people, most of my team, will either say "good for you" or "yeah right", usually it's just variations on "shut up Tommy and quit lying." And yeah, I might be exaggerating about the 'all of Italy' thing, but I know the best in at least Florence, Venice, Rome, and Verona. And when they hear those cities they'll just roll their eyes and continue on with what they're doing. Obviously I've just been to like one or two large scale pizzerias in the tourist sections of those towns, zipping in, ordering a large pepperoni in either English or broken Italian, and rating it against fast food chains in America.

But that's not what I do.

One of the few hobbies that the doctors and wardens at juvie never forced me to stop was learning languages. Ever since I was a kid, words and sounds were these amazing things. Even the simple differences between a Jersey accent, Boston accent, Southern, Cockney, Scottish, the fact that there were so many different ways to say something in English, not to mention other languages, it was amazing. The only problem I had with learning the languages was how long it took. Super speed can give you all the time in the world, so instead of paying attention during the classes they tried to force down my throat, math, science, history, I studied languages under my desk. The teachers had no idea until they asked us to write a paper describing some book in our own words. I accidentally wrote in Mandarin, switching to German the next time I worked on it.

I'm getting off subject.

I know that those places are the best in their cities because I've _tried_ most all other pizzerias there. Naples is very strict on what they say is a pizza. Order a pepperoni or sausage pizza at one of the traditional pizzerias and they're going to hate you. Roman pizza is crispy. And in most cities you can buy the pizza from open air markets. If you head down away from the main tourist trap in Venice, there's a wonderful pizzeria right on the main canal. Hard to get into, but the view is gorgeous.

Who knows why they won't believe me. I did a quick once over of the world as soon as we left Eli in that hospital. Came back a week later, but there's so much time that I had to myself. After getting freed I realized that I had the world at my disposal. I didn't have to sit in the boring trap that is High School; instead I could go learn in the real world. I'm sure the team thinks I'm in school and whatnot, but I can't do that anymore. Not when I could be helping Felice deliver his intricate glasses across Italy in exchange for money and a roof over my head, do odd jobs around Germany, relax in Spain. I can learn about history in the countries where it happened, _have_ learned history in those countries. But no one seems to question how I know the answer to the homework packets that they work on at the warehouse. How I can go in depth with what really happened. "Thanks Tommy, now shoo. You may know about France, but we're also studying India, and I _know_ you can't possibly sit still long enough to learn about more than one thing at a time." "Wow, Tommy, using super speed to wikipedia the answer? Is there anything you won't do to make yourself look smart?" And I may be exaggerating, but that's their underlying argument. I abuse my powers to fake intelligence since super speed means that I have a super small attention span. Really, guys? Do I really look like the kind of kid who, if he didn't care about a subject, would fake it? Are my answers so good that there's no way that the screw-up kid from Jersey, not even the great New York itself, but a suburb in _Jersey_, could possibly know without cheating to make myself look better? Have I _ever_ lied about that? Cheated? No, I fucking haven't.

I brag because those fuckers do too. "I got an A on my algebra test!" "I have a nice family dinner to go to tonight so I can't make it to practice." "I have archery so I'll be a bit late today." And, yeah, they're not trying to brag, I get that, and the only person who doesn't really shove their accomplishments in everyone's faces is Altman so I'm not really pissed at him, but when they're all talking about what they've done in the past week, all of their little accomplishments and family time and extra curricular activities that _might_ get a paid trip to the fancy-ass tourist side of Europe, I just want to scream. Then _I _come in with a story of my own, "Oh, I found a great stall in Hong Kong that sells the best stir fry I've ever had," and all the sudden _I'm_ the bragging bad guy. Every single response is either telling me to shut up about how fucking lucky I am, a roll of the eyes, or just being completely ignored. And, of course, if I respond to Kaplan's 'family bonding' stories of just _how well_ Altman fits in with his family, how his little brothers adore him or how his parents made the best spaghetti last night, or Kate's description of the charity she's throwing, or fucking any of their brags, I get nasty looks.

"Stop being such a dick, Tommy." Fuck you. Do you know how much I want to go back to my home in Jersey? How much I want things to go back to the way they fucking were before I got these fucking powers? My parents never _once_ came to visit me in juvie. They don't fucking care anymore. They promised, they fucking promised they'd come visit. They promised I wouldn't go through this alone. They fucking promised that they'd work to get me out of there, because my powers had just manifested, and the teachers wouldn't let me run and I couldn't do fucking anything and everything just exploded.

Fuck you, Kaplan. Your parents accepted you. They accepted every single fucking thing about you. Fuck you Eli, you still have your family. Your grandpa is a fucking hero, and your parents still care even though you don't live with them. I haven't even gone home to let them know I'm out. I _know_ they wouldn't care. They had to have seen me on the news, I mean, how many white haired speedsters are there. Me and Quicksilver. And, I mean, I'm happy that the team does have these great families who love and support them and shit, but why, why do they always shut me down when I'm trying to get some fucking acceptance on some level? Why are the rules different for me?

I'm here. I'm right fucking here, asking for just a bit of positive attention from people who are supposed to have my back in fights. We're supposed to be a great team, anticipating the others moves before they happen, being there when they need it. I just want to be a part of your team. You were all here before me, doing shit, killing Kang and saving the world while I was trapped in that hell hole. You promised you'd let me be a part of the team as long as I didn't kill. That wasn't a huge stipulation. I am not an evil bastard, _they were_. They tortured me and told me that even if I got out no one would care. They fucking shoved it in my face that my parents never came to visit. If you have someone on the edge of 'becoming a super villain' or whatever you think I am shouldn't you be there for them? Include them in shit? I get broken out of juvie and they didn't even care where I was staying. They never once asked 'do you want to stay with me? I know that we kind of up ended your whole life and may not have a place to go."

They never gave me a reason to stay. So I used my knowledge and speed to get out of there. I was able to find people who actually care around the world. Abulela Rosa in Spain. Whenever I show up I always make sure to bring her some ground coffee that she loves. She never once asked why I was running, or where I was going, when I was going to be back. Once I helped her fix her roof, ran errands for her, I was accepted into her family. Clara and Gottfried in Germany, best chicken schnitzel I've ever had, and they let me help in their shop.

My team is supposed to give me support. They're the ones who promised to be there. They promised they'd help as long as I opened up. But when I do it's always "stop bragging," "quit lying." How am I supposed to make them see that I'm trying my fucking hardest here? Do they want me to bring them stuff from around the world? "Don't steal, Tommy." Do they want me to take them to these places, to show them what I've seen, what I've done? "Wow, you're better than an airplane at least. Take me to the touristy stuff." I really don't know what to do with them. I try to open up, and I get shut down, then yelled at for not opening up.

I guess they just don't understand what it's like. And I can't _do anything_ to show them. Because showing to them is bragging.

I want to be a part of them. I want to be accepted by them.

I want to be accepted...

I'm not Kaplan.


	3. Do They Care

People aren't made to go through things alone. Social creatures and all that. So why is it so hard to get people, to get my team to notice when I'm sick or hurt? Is it because I usually just chill by myself in the warehouse while they're out with each others or their own families? Is it because I brush off concern? It's not like I'm doing it on purpose; out there on the streets and in the darker parts of the world any weakness brings you closer to getting your ass murdered.

Do they think that my hyper-healing will fix everything? Even if it's something serious?

I don't like throwing out signals that I'm hurt or sad because I'm supposed to be strong. Emotionless. The ringer. I wasn't there when they started, they didn't need me. If I stop being useful, my speed fails, I get too sick, are they just going to cut me? Leave me behind? I don't want that. I don't want them to carry on with their lives without me.

I hate throwing out signals because I'm telling everyone, not just the people I trust, but everyone that I'm hurt. I'm sick. I'm showing the world that I'm vulnerable, and any cry for help will bring not just my team, if they even care, but also our enemies. But these headaches are getting so bad I have to throw out some signals, most in the safety of the warehouse, before I end up failing them and am forced to watch them leave.

Signals aren't big, mind you. Just a gripe here about how fucking bright it is, a 'would you please turn your shit music down some' there, and laying around on the couch more than running around during off hours. I haven't been over seas in a week. If I have to send out larger signals I'm going to be pissed. There's at least one supercomputer, Kate's sharp eyes, and Billy's my fucking soul twin. He should know the signs. It's not like he has different ones. Except when he gives off those three signs over the course of a week at least one person's going to be fawning over him. I throw them out in a day and I'm just being pissy. Hello everyone, this is not me being 'temperamental', thanks for that by the way Eli, or trying to be an annoyance. This is me calling for help the same way my twin does, but like everything else I do, I do it faster. Faster does not mean I'm faking it.

Is it pathetic to think that the main reason that I don't want to ask for help is because I don't want to act like I'm begging for attention? Yeah I want it, but I can't be weak. I don't want this kind of attention. Not really. Probably. Okay, fine. I do want this attention. I shouldn't lie to my own fucking journal. If there's one person on this damn planet I'm not going to lie to it's going to be me. I want someone on the team to ask me if I'm okay. To notice that I'm not feeling well without me telling them. To still be around if I _do_ tell them. But I don't want them to feel obligated to include me. Oh look, the poor speedster's not feeling well! We should pamper him until he feels better, then drop his sorry ass so fast even _his_ head will spin. That's what it's always been like in my life, why should now be any different?

And what if they, god forbid, find another speedster? Or at least someone who's not so fucked up in the head who has similar powers to mine? Or better ones more suited to team dynamics? What if these headaches don't go away and I stop being as fast as I was, something happens and I can't run anymore? If my history's anything to go by then they'll just leave me. Forget all their talks about how we're a team and all, I'd be out on the streets while they got a new addition. It's not like the Avenger's fail-safe program or whatever doesn't have other kids on there. Hell, they don't even need that. All they need to do is go to Utopia and say that they're recruiting. Easiest way to forget about the dead weight whose head's trying to destroy him.

The worst part about this whole headache whiny bitch-fest is that I don't know what's causing these headaches. Medicine won't help, the doctors at the free clinic don't know what's wrong, I can't check myself into a real doctor without insurance or a parent, and the hospital costs a fuckton and a half. I've been trying to think back to what's causing this, why I feel like just, just shutting down, and I'm coming up blank. School was fine, didn't really hang out with anybody cause no one wants to hang out with me, and I'm cool with that. I ran laps around the city, nothing special there. It might have been the fight against that gaseous monster. That whole battle's a blur, then again most are. The whole world swirls around what I'm fighting. If it's not trying to hurt me, it's not important. And here I go with my excuses and explanations for why I'm a spazz again. Can't even stay on the same subject for a whole fucking paragraph.

I don't feel like writing in this thing anymore, not for now at least. What if someone finds this? I keep it locked up pretty well as far as I can tell, but what if Eli finds this, or, god forbid, Kaplan? Mr. my-mom's-a-therapist-so-I-should-be-able-to-help. Yeah, well, my dad was a poker player, and a damn good one at that. My mom was a lawyer. Double whammy of avoiding questions and hiding my tells.

Maybe I could keep writing, at least until this headache up and ends me. Give them all a glimpse into my mind after I've gone off and done something so stupid I'm not coming back. Not to make them feel bad or anything, although if they read this that's probably what's going to happen, but to prove to them that I _did_ feel things. I _wanted_ to be a part of the team. What I didn't want was to be pitied, thrown away like a broken toy, or forgotten.

Why am I such a depressing fuck? Why can't I just come out and say that I'm miserable and that I want someone to help me stop being this way? I know that no one's going to look at me different, at least a bad different. I know that Kaplan and Kate at least would love to help me 'come out of my shell' or whatever. But I've spent so much time trying to build this indestructible image that I _can't_ break it. For the first time in my life I've been in control of what I do. Doing things not because my parents are dragging me to it, or because it's on the schedule for that day in juvie, but because I can. I'm not weak anymore. I was the kid who cried when I got lost two blocks from my house. And now? Now I _am_ strong. But I can feel myself weakening, I can feel the need to hide back in my shell, cut myself off from the world like in juvie, like during the tests again.

I'm free for the first time in my life, so I don't want to lose myself. I have people who, if they put any effort into understanding me, I could be friends with, so I don't think I want to lose myself. Every time I get treated differently from the rest of the team, overlooked by them, I think I want to lose myself. If they don't notice me slipping away, if they don't _care_ that I'm slipping away, I will gladly lose myself.


	4. Missing Memories

I woke up in India today. The headache was still there, just pounding behind my eyes, but it was less than before. The strange thing about this is I am about 99 percent sure I went to sleep at the warehouse.

The Kaplans had noticed that _something_ was up, and as much as I tried to convince myself it was fine, I knew, _knew_ it wasn't safe there. I felt the need to run, to get back to the parole house that I was staying at after I got signed out of that damn juvie, while at the same time knowing that that place wasn't safe either. The only safe place I could think of, the only place without a million eyes trying to dissect me was the warehouse.

I know I went to sleep here last night. Why else would my day clothes be here? Did I sleep walk? I've never, ever done that before, so I'm hesitant to say it was that.

The more I try to think about last night, the harder I try to remember, the worse this headache gets. It's like the memories are blocked or something.

And that terrifies me. There was only one other place that things like this happened. Only one in the whole world. But I escaped juvie. They didn't get the mental conditioning shit done. I'm still me. I'm not a weapon, even if they did their fucking best to make sure my personality was locked away on their call.

Is that blood under my nails?

I'm not hurt anywhere. No new scratches or scars or anything.

It must have been a mosquito or something, some bug.

Although, journal, now that I'm really _looking_ at my shirt, there're a few dark splotches. It's just curry, or something. Nothing to get worried about. I don't do stuff like that. I didn't even blow up the doctors who tried to kill me. I wouldn't run to a different country just to attack someone, that's just ridiculous.

But why can't I _remember_? Okay, okay let me do this logically.

I left the Kaplans after dinner, running before either of his parents had a chance to "ask" me what was wrong. Lock me up when they found out I was even more of a freak than normal.

I came here, to the warehouse after, after...After running by the parole house. The light was on on the porch, and I wondered why it was a flickering purple instead of the normal yellow, but I decided to come here.

I...watched some TV. Yeah, yeah I did that because I kept thinking that Kate was going to get pissed at the cable bill or something, so I decided to get her something nice from Spain next time I was there.

I drank some water before bed. The cup's still on the end table.

I went to sleep. No, wait, I took some pain meds, then went to sleep. That's why I was drinking the water, to wash the pills down. I should probably grab some of those again, try and get rid of the knife that's trying to lodge itself in my head.

Okay, okay now those should kick in in a few minutes. Gotta remember to ask Kaplan where he got blue headache meds. They seem to work better than the green ones.

So I took meds last night, and went to sleep. And, and...

I woke up in India. No, there has to be an explanation how I got there.

There was a loud noise before I really fell asleep, but that's nothing new in this neighborhood. Even the occasional late night gunshot's not unheard of. But, fuck I always have a good memory. I have to to keep locations and shit straight.

Uggh, this is so frustrating.

I didn't mean to throw this all the way across the room, fuck. Okay, this headache's causing me to lose my temper. I'm going to go for a run, see if that fixes this.

Maybe I can figure out what the hell's going on.

~Next Page~

I-I think I killed someone.

I went back to that neighborhood to try and figure out what the fuck happened, and there were fucking cops and shit everywhere.

Right up the street from the alley I woke up in they had a whole block sectioned off. A building had collapsed.

And, I don't know, it seemed so familiar. Like, I knew what the floor plan of the building was. Not who lived there, but what they did, and that the rubble pile that had been moved was where a body had been.

I... I don't know what to do. I /should/ talk to the cops there, but I can't go back to juvie. Maybe I tried to help. Tried to dig the person out. That would account for the blood on my clothes and hands.

Why do I _know_ that's not what happened?

I was sent, told, ordered, something to go there, to get rid of this doctor who... whose work was none of my concern.

It didn't matter what his name was, or-or what he was working on. H-he needed to be taken care of.

Just took two more of those headache pills.

It's coming back, last night, but fuck if my head isn't killing me.

I can't remember _who_ told me to go there, or why I followed their instructions.

I didn't feel anything as I ran, as I k-did the deed. Just cold, clinical precision.

I am not a weapon.

I am not a weapon.

I am not a weapon.

I got out of there before they were able to turn me into one.

I have my own mind, personality, abilities.

I am not a weapon.

I need to lay down, I feel like I'm blacking out from this headache.

I just need to rest, then I'll be fine.


	5. Please

I'm losing whole days, and I feel like this may be the last time I'm ever lucid like this again. At least I know where I was going. I 'woke up' once during the procedure. The doctors. They did something to me, I don't know what, but they did, and I'm losing days and weeks and I don't want to be a weapon I don't want to be a monster. It's the weapon programming, they brainwashed me in juvie. I didn't want it. I don't want it. I don't want to hurt people. I don't want to hurt my friends. I don't want to go back to the programming. Not now. No, please no.

Guys, if you're reading this, please, please just kill me. I've seen the kids who went into this programming. Kids they had weaponized. There's no coming back from that. It's not something you can fix. Please, I beg you, just put me out of my misery instead of letting me hurt or kill you. Please. I'm not a monster when I'm me, when I'm Tommy, but I think Tommy's dying, and only the weapon will be left. And if you can't, get the X-Force or someone who can. Don't let me hurt people. Keep yourse

Tommy, I don't know if you can see this, if you're here with us right now, but I think it's important to give you updates on what's happening, and finish this journal. Mom and Dad miss you so much, Mitchel keeps asking when you're going to come home. Luke seems to know you're gone.

I read your journal. I know it was private, that it was your thoughts and stuff, but I had to know why you were missing. Try to figure out if you had left any hints to where you were going.

God, I wish I had read it sooner.

You were hurting so bad, and I didn't see it. I should have. I should have done so many thing differently. And when I find you I will. I'll listen to all of your stories, pay attention to you all the time, be there as much as I can. Just please, please don't be dead.

We did fight you, days after you went missing. Normally I wouldn't think much of it since you disappeared all the time, but I swear my heart stopped when I heard you were attacking downtown. Cap sent us to try and reason with you, or knock you out of it or whatever. You didn't recognize us, didn't say anything. You just attacked.

When you threw me into the wall, speeding up to hover over me, I honestly thought I was dead. Concussions and casting don't work. So I did the only thing I could think, I grabbed your arms, pulled you into a hug and begged you to snap out of it. You pushed away from me, grabbing your head, and I saw you come back. I couldn't celebrate. You just apologized as you staggered back from all of us, I've never seen you so scared.

You said goodbye.

Tommy, brother, please, please come back to me. I need you, we all need you here. I swear I'll pay more attention. I won't let you get hurt. Just please come back. I need you.

Okay, I've calmed down enough to see the paper again. We found those pills, the blue ones, and Iron man had them analyzed. He said they were made with things to weaken the mind or something. I don't know exactly, but what I do know is that we found a cure for the brainwashing. We found a way to bring you back.

The way you said goodbye was so final.

You have to be alive. Suicide is the cowards way out, remember? Remember the day you talked to that kid we saved about cutting? You saw the signs that we didn't, was that because of how horrible we were at it?

Please, please come home. I need you. I need to hold you and love you and promise I'll never let you go again. Please, I don't want to find that I've missed my chance. Please don't be dead. Please come back to me. Please please please please. My magic's just on the fritz, that's why the locating spell isn't working. Please come home and tell me how shitty of a caster I am since I can't even cast a simple locating spell. Please please. I miss you and need you. Tommy please, I love you, bro, and I need you to come home. Please.


End file.
